


Three Options

by abstractconcept



Category: Get Backers
Genre: Hatesex, Knifeplay, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-15
Updated: 2006-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ban needs to distract Akabane so Ginji can get away. Luckily for Ban, Akabane is willing to be distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Options

**Author's Note:**

> BETA: The Democratic Detefabula
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Belongs to Team GetBackers, Rando Ayamine and Yuya Aoki, etc.
> 
> NOTES: For amethyst_hunter's birthday—I’m sorry it’s late!

**Three Options**

His ankle was shot. That was _all_ he needed. Clenching his teeth, Ban reviewed his options. He catalogued the Get Backers’ advantages and disadvantages. Advantages? They had the object. Ban could still use his Snake Bite. Ginji could still use his legs. Disadvantages? Akabane was only moments behind, and would catch up quickly. The assignment was safe, but the Transporter would want to take it back, of course, and that would mean a fight. Ban couldn’t run. His ankle was definitely at least sprained, maybe even broken. Ginji couldn’t fight. His arm had been wrenched from its joint, and he’d need to recharge before he’d heal. Neither of them had slept for days, although Ginji had managed a short catnap at one point.

 _Fight, or flight?_ Mentally, Ban shrugged. What the hell. There were two of them; why choose?

“Take it and go, Ginji. I’ll handle Akabane.”

Ginji’s earnest eyes filled with worry. “Ban-chan, I can’t leave you behind!”

“Don’t be _stupid!_ ” Ban snarled. “I can still fight, and _you_ can still run! All I have to do is distract him long enough, and you’ll have a chance to make the retrieval. Then we’ll get _paid_ for all this trouble!”

“Yeah, but...”

“Ginji! Don’t think! That’s a disaster waiting to happen. Just _go_! I can take care of myself.”

With a deep breath, Ginji nodded. “Right! You can count on me, Ban-chan!” He sprinted down the alley, feet slapping on the pavement.

Ban sighed. He shut his eyes a moment, trying to center himself, to find that cool Jagan-master that served him so well... _well...well..._

Ban realized that his thoughts hadn’t really echoed; someone had spoken.

His eyes snapped open to appraise the deadly Dr. Jackal. “Akabane,” he said with a nod—as much recognition as he felt the man was due.

“But you’ve let poor, innocent Ginji wander off into the city alone. Whatever will become of him?” Akabane asked, slipping closer.

“He’s fine.” _He’s not here with **you,** _ Ban’s mind added.

“And you think he’ll get away with the object I’m supposed to be Transporting?”

“Yes. I have every confidence in it,” Ban lied.

Akabane’s smile flared for a moment. “Then you don’t think I’ll simply move through you like a hot knife through butter and go after him?”

Ban took a moment to place the idiom. “A hot knife through butter?” he repeated incredulously. “Where’d you pick _that_ one up?”

To his consternation, Akabane gave him a little frown. “You never take me seriously.”

“Well, that’s the thing about death,” Ban philosophised. “It’s better when you can laugh at it.”

The good doctor blinked, seeming to actually consider this random nugget of wisdom. “I don’t think I ever considered it in quite that light,” he acknowledged. Even as his eyes were distant with thought, his blades _snicked_ as they extended. “What if it doesn’t like being laughed at?”

Ban tensed. He could use the Jagan, but to what end? It only lasted one minute, and one minute wasn’t enough time for Ginji to get clean away.

Suddenly, Akabane was there before him, a flash of purple eyes and a flowering pain in his side as a scalpel scraped his ribs. Ban leapt back, and realized while in the air why this was a stupid move. He managed to land mostly on his right foot, but he still winced in pain.

Akabane smiled shrewdly. “I rarely manage to tease such an honest reaction from you. Are you already injured, or is it something else, my delicate blossom?”

Ban glared at him. “I’m _not_ your delicate _blossom_ ,” he growled, emphasizing the statement with a punch aimed at Akabane’s cold, twisted smile.

Once again, Ban had forgotten the ankle problem. It threw him just slightly awry, and in most cases it wouldn’t have mattered; Ban had already begun to correct his balance, and though he would have missed Akabane, it’s not as though he was about to fall flat on his face.

That would have been just too easy. The world was not that kind.

Because Akabane had moved as well, glided a step back and to the side, anticipating a punch that never came, and instead ended up staggering back even further, entangled with Ban. They came crashing up against the bricks of the alley wall, everything rumpled and askew. Akabane quietly cleared his throat and adjusted his hat, which had fallen over his face.

Ban cursed loudly. This wasn’t a fight. Hell, this wasn’t even the brilliant imitation of a fight he’d been prepared to use as a distraction. It was like an _outtake_ from a fight; some bit that should have ended up on the director’s floor.

“I would ask that you would move your leg, Midou,” Akabane said in his usual cold, creepy voice.

But as Ban looked up to toss off a glib response, he saw the dilation of the man’s pupils, the odd expression that quickly melted back into a mask of impassiveness.

Suddenly, Ban realized that he didn’t have to fight Jackal off or defeat him; he merely had to keep his interest long enough. If he could keep the man off balance...

“You...want me to move my leg?” he asked, doing so, but just slightly. Akabane stiffened. Ban carefully, slowly slipped his thigh between the Jackal’s, and found that the man really _had_ stiffened. Suddenly, there was a third option. _Fight, flight, or fuck._

Akabane’s eyes widened, dropped to take in Ban’s undulations, then rose to meet Ban’s gaze. Ban had never seen the man look so taken aback—or so human. It looked good on him, Ban decided. He let one hand graze Akabane’s cheek, slide down the cool skin to brush his throat. He could feel the wild pulse there, as though his touch had the power of pulling it to the surface, and he wondered if he could make Akabane flush.

The Jackal cleared his throat in a meaningful way, as a business executive who has let the conversation wander, and would now like to return to the topic at hand. “This is not fair play,” Akabane pointed out in a mild voice.

Ban gave him a smug smile. “You don’t _like_ fair play,” he returned.

Akabane was beginning to relax, posture sinking into self-assured detachment. “ _Touché,_ ” he murmured.

Ban hissed as pain shot up his leg, and looked down to see the Transporter’s scalpel in his thigh. “Is that some kinky, fucked up way of telling me you only do it when you can top?” he growled.

Again, for just a split second, Akabane’s steel composure was lost. There was never anything close to fear in his eyes, but there was definitely an edge of something not ordinarily there...something like astonishment. It faded quickly back into the typical glimmer of anticipation. “You’re most amusing today. I find it more agreeable than your usual reticence.”

Ban wrenched away, blood flowing freely down his leg. Great. Now not only was his ankle shot, but the muscle of his thigh was torn, too. He could feel the heat and wet creeping down his trouser leg. He plucked the scalpel out and threw it to the side.

Akabane shifted smoothly through the air, catching hold of Ban’s shirt and spinning him around. “Since you’re amenable to being with me for the moment...shall we dance?” the man purred. “I’ll lead.”

Of course, to Akabane, ‘dance’ probably meant ‘try to tear each other into bloody shreds.’

Ban’s first instinct was to break away, to put some distance between himself and the homicidal maniac, but he quickly changed his mind. After all, the point of the exercise was to be unpredictable. Instead he wrapped one arm tightly around Akabane, sure he had the sort of grip that, if he chose to, he could crush the man’s ribs. One of Akabane’s hands rose, but Ban caught him by the wrist, light glinting off of the upraised scalpel.

 _Crap._ That left one hand loose. He felt it crawl along his shoulder, smooth over his back until there was a sharp pressure at the nape of his neck.

“If you squeeze, I admit it would be troublesome for me,” the Jackal said. “But if I twitch, I’ll sever your spinal column.”

Ban stared at the man for a long, breathless moment, trying to think of something to serve that involved no sudden movements. He decided it would probably be best to change the subject. “You have beautiful eyes,” he breathed, letting just a hint of teasing arrogance into his voice. “What shade are they exactly? Royal purple, would you say?”

Akabane’s eyebrow rose. “Indeed. Do you know that the words we translate today from dead languages as purple are said to actually mean crimson? ‘I view a field of blood, and Tiber rolling with a purple blood.’ Dryden, you see. Isn’t it elegant?”

“Bruises are purple, too,” Ban offered, his mind still racing even while his mouth was on automatic.

The Jackal sniffed slightly. “I never leave bruises,” he replied. “Every bruise is a wasted trickle of blood.”

Ban couldn’t help but give a slight shiver of revulsion at that, and more so when Akabane smiled sweetly. Well, Ban couldn’t pull away, but he could certainly move forward, and if it didn’t shock Akabane, nothing would.

With a deep breath to steady himself, Ban kissed the man firmly. “Your blood thrums with the want,” he breathed against Akabane’s mouth, eyes half-shut. “And what you want is _me._ ”

That elegant mouth twitched in amusement, and a slight chuckle escaped. Luckily, the knife at Ban’s neck shifted, as well. “Your blood thrums as well,” Akabane whispered. “My exhilaration, my sweet moment will come from spilling it.”

Ban had to dance back clumsily as scalpels flew. “Dammit, Jackal! Why can’t you just fucking let yourself get seduced?”

“Into looking into your eyes, so you can give me a dream?” Akabane replied. “Or into letting you get your snake’s grip on my throat, so you can rip it out?”

“Perverted jerk! That’s _your_ hang up, not mine!”

Akabane laughed. “If you want to play, play _my_ way. Otherwise, what is there to hold my interest?”

Ban jerked slightly as a blur snipped the top button of his shirt off. It clattered down the alley and rolled away into darkness. He took a deep breath. He could do this. This was for Ginji. This was for the money. And dammit, this was for the _win._

“I can do you one better,” he said. “ _Snake-bite!_ ” His arm shot out, and he cheerfully ripped Akabane’s long, flappy coat from his frame.

“Tsk...so crude,” Akabane said with a lazy smile. He clipped off another of Ban’s buttons. “You have no patience, no finesse. Though I admit that your strength of feeling is appreciated.”

Ban could have patience. He _should_ have patience. The longer he took, the better off Ginji would be. It would just be a hell of a lot easier if he didn’t feel as nervous as a cat walking a high-wire just above a bunch of dogs. One false step, and he was sure as hell dog food, anyway.

Another scalpel flicked out, and Ban snatched it from the air, tossing it over his shoulder. He really wouldn’t be able to do much with Akabane while the man had the ability to turn into a human porcupine, anyway. He should get as many scalpels from him as possible. Akabane threw another, which was subsequently blocked and thrown away.

The man frowned. “You are beginning to lose my interest,” he warned.

“I’ll take my clothes off _my_ way, if you don’t mind,” Ban replied calmly, shucking his shirt. Control. That was the important thing. He had to keep control of the situation. Ban straightened, hoping to spend a few moments posing and tantalising the man, but abruptly another scalpel shot out and bit through his belt. He really did need the belt to keep his pants up, and one hand immediately had to be put to use impeding their perpetual slide toward his ankles. “What—you bastard,” Ban growled. He fumbled the scalpel, managing to get it away, but nicked his finger in the process. “How the hell many of these do you _have,_ anyway?”

Akabane beamed, as if someone had inquired about a hobby or a book he was fond of. “More than one hundred,” he said happily.

Ban groaned. However long Akabane wanted to draw out the foreplay, Ban preferred to disarm the man, and as quickly as possible. He grabbed hold of Akabane’s arm, yanking him forward, dodging every blade that attempted to bite into his skin or—possibly—further undress him, shedding them with _clinks_ right and left.

Then he started feeling Akabane up, trying to figure out where each knife was hidden on his body. Sadly, that imperfect skin gave away no sign, although he _did_ find one secreted in a rather surprising spot. “Aren’t you worried about losing something essential, keeping scalpels there?” he asked.

Akabane shrugged. “It is, on occasion, a nasty surprise for an enemy willing to go to such lengths.”

Ban stepped back a moment, flinging the shining toy aside. “You do have balls, I’ll give you that. In spite of the scalpel.”

“So kind of you to notice.” Then they were at each other again, stillness to movement in a heartbeat, fists and blades and teeth nipping into exposed skin. And more skin was being exposed by the moment, as they fought for dominance, for control, for the sheer thrill of it.

Akabane’s blades came to hand as quickly as Ban could fling them away; each fluttered for the pulse-point at Ban’s wrist, or sliced toward his throat, or made an energetic attempt to disembowel him.

With a snarl of rage, Ban grabbed for both of Akabane’s wrists, twisted, sent them both sprawling to the ground.

The Jackal made an animalistic noise, thrashing beneath Ban’s weight. “ _No_ ,” Ban growled, slamming Akabane’s wrists to the ground, pinning them, another set of deadly knives clattering down like coins on the street.

Akabane thrust up—but not with any blade. He moved his hips, just his hips, and Ban’s mouth opened slightly. “Do you like that, Midou? Hmm?” Akabane hummed, pressing himself in an ever more urgent rhythm against Ban.

“Guh,” Ban managed, his eyes slightly unfocussed. Ban would not be the first man to admit he was somewhat undersexed, despite his many attempts at groping women. He rarely had time, with his job, and never had privacy, with Ginji always around, but he didn’t often give thought to what he was missing. Usually he was too busy fighting, being chased, or trying to track down his idiot partner.

“The great Ban Midou, reduced to this?” Akabane’s amused voice caressed him like silk. “Where are your careless taunts? What has happened to your impressive ego?”

He looked...well, Ban hesitated to use the word about a guy, but the man looked downright wanton. His hair was in disarray, his violet eyes were rich, deep, dark and hungry, his lips were wet and curled with breathless laughter.

Ban gave him a cocky grin. “My ego isn’t the only thing about me that’s impressive,” he retorted, and dipped his head so their tongues could joust. He wouldn’t have called it a kiss, and he sure as hell wasn’t stupid enough to try slipping into Akabane’s mouth, but the slick, twisting wetness was arousing all the same.

He scrambled to get the rest of the man’s clothes off as quickly as possible, eager to find a safe place to press his lips, an area without the threat of teeth. Akabane seemed to like having his throat sucked at, and his collarbone nipped at. Ban ran his tongue up Akabane’s shoulder, pausing to sink his teeth into the skin there.

The man grunted with pain or pleasure, or a mixture of the two, and wrapped his long legs around Ban’s waist, urging him closer.

This was too good an invitation to pass up, and Ban tore loose what clothing still clung to Akabane’s thin body, running the flat of his hand up and down thighs, hips and stomach, making certain there were no unpleasant surprises sliding under the skin.

Akabane seemed to like the treatment, his contented laugh almost a purr. “You don’t trust me? I’m so very hurt.”

“Better you than me,” Ban shot back. “You promise me, Jackal. Promise that you won’t try to slice off any extremities until after we’re done, at least.”

The man had to consider a few moments. “Very well,” he capitulated. “We’ll finish our game later.”

Ban sighed. “This _is_ the game, you idiot.” _As much of one as you’re likely to get from me today._

Akabane’s nose wrinkled. “How do the players tell when someone wins?” he asked archly. “Without the spurt of blood?”

“Something else spurts,” Ban countered. “And ideally, we _both_ win.”

“Sexual pleasure for its own sake seems rather banal,” Akabane frowned.

Ban sucked a finger into his mouth, wetting it. “Trust me,” he replied a moment later, causing Akabane to gasp and writhe with the movement of said finger, “you won’t have any objections by the time I’m done.”

By the time Ban had slipped into that scarred body, he’d cautiously let go of Akabane’s wrists. After all, the man _had_ promised. And Ban wouldn’t be turning his back on him, anyway.

His hips rolled, his belly tightening with every sweat-slick movement, with the heat in Akabane’s eyes, with the struggle and the sharp scalpels digging into his back, scratching the skin just deep enough to bead the surface with blood.

Akabane moved with Ban, countering his thrusts, hips rising to meet each pump. He gave Ban a sly smile, his blades delicate as fingernails tracing Ban’s shoulder blade, and Ban managed one more snap of the hips, one more joining of hot mouths, tongues, and teeth, and then he shuddered, thunder ripping through his body in a way even Ginji would never fully understand.

Akabane sucked in a breath of air, his face again showing momentary humanity, and Ban reached down, stroked him roughly, eyes eagerly fixed on that cold, cruel face as Akabane, for once, surrendered, eyes hazy with pleasure. He bit his lip, and a small trickle of blood slipped down his chin. Ban wiped it away, unnerved.

Still panting, Ban sat back on his haunches, just becoming aware of how cold and hard the pavement was. Jackal couldn’t be any more comfortable—but then again, he _liked_ pain.

The man sat up, sighing a little and pulling on his hat. Considering his clothes were in tatters, Ban didn’t know what Akabane would do.

Then again, that only bought more time for Ban to get away. His clothes were more or less wearable, and he dressed quickly.

“I’ll send someone with a blanket or something, okay?” he mumbled, looking forward to restoring things to normal.

Akabane smiled, completely comfortable nude but for a hat and two white gloves. “Yes. I suppose it would rather upset small children if I left the alley looking like this.”

“Right. Right.” Ban patted his clothes for cigarettes and lit one. “Want a drag?”

Amused, the Transporter shook his head. “They’ll kill you, you know,” he murmured.

“Well, good to know you’re still creepy. I’m going to go now, uh, call you sometime, send some clothes, whatever.” Ban was aware that, as rare as he had sex, pillow-talk was something he was even _more_ inexperienced with.

Akabane leaned back against the wall blissfully. “And you won’t forget?”

“No...I won’t forget.” _Wish I could_ , Ban added in the privacy of his head. He turned and strode quickly out of the alley, expecting all the time a knife in the back. It never came.

Back at the Honky Tonk, Ban’s good humor was immediately restored by the presence of Ginji—and Hevn, with the money for the retrieval.

“Good job, guys!” she told them. “And you didn’t even manage to break anything but yourselves.”

Ginji, however, was frowning at Ban. “You defeated Akabane? But you don’t even look tired! You look kind of...happy,” he said, perplexed.

Ban opened his mouth, and could feel himself blushing, when the door tinkled behind him, and in walked Akabane, amazingly clothed and unruffled. They weren’t _his_ clothes, but they fit and looked nice. Ban suddenly had a zing of doubt. “Where did you _get_ those?” he growled. “I _told_ you I’d take care of it!”

“I got bored waiting,” said Akabane. “And I was approached by a gentleman only slightly larger than myself, so I thought I should take advantage of the opportunity. I always wanted to try a pair of blue jeans. They are most comfortable,” he added, squirming a little.

Ban rested his face in his hands so no one could see him flush.

“Congratulations on your retrieval, by the way,” Akabane added sweetly.

“Thanks,” Ban replied weakly. “Thanks a million.”

“ _Ban_ ,” Ginji choked, tugging on his sleeve. “What’s going on? You didn’t fight with Akabane at all, did you?”

Ban took a sip of coffee, restoring his equanimity. It was no big deal. After all, no one had died, right? And Ban had won. He could hold his head high. Shrugging a little, he gave Ginji a smug smile. “Didn’t have to fight him,” Ban replied.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He glanced slyly at Akabane from the corner of his eye. “There’s more than one way to skin a Jackal."


End file.
